


i've got you with me for my whole life

by bastards



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Study, Gen, Introspection, Platonic Soulmates, they are safe and happy in their cottagecore home, tubbo plants some sunflowers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-18 05:40:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29238480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bastards/pseuds/bastards
Summary: Just being alive, warm and breathing, sun beating down on his face; just being here, Tubbo and his dirt-caked fingers versus Tommy’s sticky honey-glazed ones. He could never be alone in this pocket of the world. It would be fundamentally wrong, from the deepest recesses of his soul, to not share it with someone.They’ve carved out a home, a life for themselves that they love so dearly, safe and happy in this corner of the universe.
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s), Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit
Comments: 12
Kudos: 60





	i've got you with me for my whole life

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pearchum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pearchum/gifts).



> title from sunflower lullabies by maya lucia.
> 
> HAPPY BIRTHDAY LENA i l*ve you and ive shown that the only way i know how. through making a product that is objectively not worth that much, but i hope it is worth something to you.
> 
> i would once again like to emphasize that the relationship between tubbo and tommy is PURELY PLATONIC. if you ship them romantically. please (not so) kindly leave. (also i hope your socks are perpetually damp for the rest of your life.)
> 
> cw food!!!

Tubbo sticks his fingers into the loose-packed dirt and digs, gently, gently. It gives way, warm and soft and forgiving. He had worried a little about not having a spade, he’ll admit. He thought that his hands wouldn’t be enough, that the dirt would be _too strong_ , as dumb as that may sound. When Tommy first started working on the vegetable garden in early March, he had hidden all the supplies he was using around the fucking house, and they were still stumbling upon things tucked away in various cabinets and underneath the beds. 

Last time it was Tubbo’s turn to clean, he had found a pair of gardening gloves and a small seed packet behind Tommy’s chest of drawers. He confronted Tommy, of course. It went a little something like this:

“Tommy, why?” Tubbo knows he has what Tommy calls his _I’m not angry, I’m just disappointed_ face on.

Tommy snatches the gloves out of his hands, leaving the seed packet. His gaze is darting around the room, looking anywhere but Tubbo’s eyes. 

“You know, I’ve just been doing a little casual gardening.” His free hand darts up to the back of his head, scratching nervously. “I hope you don’t mind? I-I mean, I don’t fucking care if you mind but I know I’ve been talking about it for a while and—”

Tubbo’s hands fly up to grip his shoulders. He fixes Tommy with a steely gaze, serious as someone can be while wearing rubber gloves and a floral-patterned bandana. (They both have to wear them, whenever they clean. It’s just a _thing_ they have, an unspoken agreement that they both conform to readily enough.)

“Tommy, whatever you decide to do, just know I will always support you.” He manages to hold a straight face for maybe two or three seconds, until Tommy snickers and they both collapse onto each other, descending into giggles.

The point is, they never found the spade. It’s probably behind the stove or something, knowing Tommy. Tubbo’s mouth curls up involuntarily at the thought, and he glances over at the small vegetable garden. Green shoots have already begun sprouting at various places across the patch, bright against the dark rich soil.

They had a particularly cold spring this year, and Tubbo had been worried that the plants wouldn’t make it. That’s why he started his sunflowers inside, buried the seeds in terracotta pots, and waited for them to sprout. The months had passed, slowly. Time trickling like the excessive amount of syrup Tommy liked to put on his pancakes, in their small cozy cottage, smoke curling out of the brick chimney on cold nights.

\---

He always thought sunflowers were interesting. The sun, bold and brash and loud, rising in the east every morning without fail. The sunflower, quietly bright, cheerful, anticipating the sun’s return, facing east every morning and following slowly as it blazes across the sky, vainglorious.

The sunflowers came from Puffy’s shop. It was one of his favorite places, sun streaming through the tall windows, planters filled with every color of flower imaginable. Every week, he would make the trek to visit her, and every week, she would shake her head and tell him, 

“No, Tubbo. It’s still too cold. I know you’re itching to plant them outside, I am too! But I’m worried they’ll just freeze.” She always sighs, before continuing. “I really wish someone could control the weather, but no dice. We just have to wait it out.”

Today though, when the chime of the small bell indicated the opening of the door to her shop, Puffy was noticeably brighter. 

“Hey Tubbo! I think we’ve finally leveled out, and the nice weather’s here to stay.” The lilt of her words made Tubbo think of the unfurling of petals. “In other words, I’m giving you the go-ahead.”

Tubbo opened his mouth to thank Puffy, but she held a finger up. Her eyes flashed with a glint of mischief, and she said, “Before you go. I know you’re not really one for gossip, but something happened and I just _need_ to share it with someone. Tubbo, to be quite honest, you’re probably the only person I trust not to spread it. _Especially_ to a certain someone who would tell _everyone_ on the server.” She winked.

Tubbo leaned forward, and stayed there for another half hour, enraptured, while Puffy regaled him with stories of George and his attempt to gift flowers to all his friends. Him frantically barrelling into Puffy’s shop, his insistence on certain flowers. She grinned, and Tubbo laughed loud and open as she told him about how, _exactly_ , letting a color-blind person with too much confidence and a stubborn streak into a flower shop would end.

After their gossip session, Tubbo said his thank-yous, bid his farewells, and virtually skipped all the way home, wide grin splitting his face.

\---

So here he is, dirt patch in front of him, fresh soil dug up by his own hands, spade-less. Three terracotta pots in front of him, each holding a single sunflower. They had grown astonishingly fast once Tubbo had planted them.

(Tommy had started threatening the flowers at some point, holding knives to their stems. _Tubbo, if they grow taller than me, I swear to Church Prime and all that is holy_. He drew a line across his throat with his finger then, and Tubbo had doubled over in laughter at the sheer ridiculousness of it all.)

He gently picks up the first sunflower, clumps of dirt stuck around the roots, when he catches something slowly being scrawled across left forearm. Red ink.

_ill be home a little late waiting for the next batch of honey buns i know you like them fresh._ Honey buns for breakfast, Tubbo notes idly. _fundys being a bitch niki wants to come over for dinner._ He shakes his head fondly as Tommy finally seems to stop writing.

Ever since they had built their cottage together, sun-baked earth and cobblestone, Tommy has started inviting people over for dinner. Despite how much he complains about _cooking, I don’t know how to fucking cook!_ , Tubbo knows that he enjoys the company, that despite the brash, larger-than-life act he puts on, he misses his friends. And he loves them, at heart. Big fucking softie. So Tubbo entertains him, because Tubbo misses his friends as well.

(Also, he was definitely the cook between the two of them. Leave it up to Tommy, and the kitchen would be a charred husk within a week.)

He’s so caught up that he almost forgets to respond. He sets the sunflower down, pulls out the green pen he always keeps in his shirt pocket, and starts writing. _Thats fine! Im planting right now, dw :)_. The response comes almost instantaneously. Tommy must be bored. _dont forget im dragging you into the forest. dickhead._ A crude drawing of a dick appears next to the message, and ducking his head, Tubbo snickers at how on-brand it is. He draws a terrible, misshapen thumbs-up in response, and turns back to his flowers.

The sun shines warm rays onto his back as he packs dirt back around the flower. Return to earth. The sky is a vibrant blue, almost completely clear except for a few wisps of cotton-candy clouds drifting across the vast expanse. Tubbo feels like he could drift off into the atmosphere, melt into the ground. He closes his eyes. Return to earth. Everything is so quiet in that moment, his knees planted in the dirt and the air still and it’s _peaceful_. This pocket of the world that belongs to him and him alone.

Then the fence gate bangs open and Tommy is barrelling into him, his free hand ruffling Tubbo’s hair while his other hand precariously balances a white box, the sticky-sweet smell of honey wafting from it. 

“Miss me, bitch?” but there’s a honey bun already in Tommy’s mouth (he could never quite resist sweet things) so it comes out more like “Mif me, bif?” and Tubbo can still understand him.

(He’s never had a problem understanding Tommy.)

He reaches up and musses Tommy’s hair in return, getting dirt all over. Tommy makes a noise of indignation, drops the box in the grass, and starts chasing after him. Tubbo runs away, laughing the whole time. It’s raucous and loud but still somehow fond, fond.

Just being alive, warm and breathing, sun beating down on his face; just being _here_ , Tubbo and his dirt-caked fingers versus Tommy’s sticky honey-glazed ones. He could never be alone in this pocket of the world. It would be fundamentally wrong, from the deepest recesses of his soul, to not share it with someone. They’ve carved out a home, a life for themselves that they love so dearly, safe and happy in this corner of the universe.

They’re just children, of course. And love is such a vast and unknowable thing. But Tubbo knows that red and green ink intertwines on their skin, that they would be incomplete without each other. What is one without the other, after all?

(What is the sun without the sunflower, and the sunflower without the sun?)

**Author's Note:**

> this fic was so incredibly fun to write. i adore their dynamic. (thank you for reading!!!!)
> 
> twitter @ [oyakudon](https://twitter.com/oyakudon)


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